(This poem appeared in the now defunct journal Every Day Poets on January 27, 2013.)
la_tete_rouge_1915_-_amedeo_modigliani

Cain turned from me, his back hunched
leopardlike, he walked toward our parents’ hut.
As darkness descended, I felt the brush of feathers.
I barely perceived the voice of my brother:
There’s been an accident.

© Timothy Dailey-Valdés, 2013-2016
Image: Amedeo Modigliani, La Tête Rouge, 1915